Loss
by Trollmela
Summary: Prince Thorin's mission of diplomacy was doomed to fail. Never would the King of the Greenwood forgive the dwarves for taking immortal lives to save mortal blood. (First part of the AU series "The Woodland King".)


**Loss**

 _Or_

 **The Other King**

The elven king sneered at the gems of Lasgalen. He handed the box off to a courtier, and he could not have shown them more contempt had he thrown them to the floor.

"A poor payment you bring for the lives lost in defense of your home!"

They came too late and now only served as an insult or a poor excuse. Thorin had feared as much, but Thráin had bidden him to present them to the elves, and when not even Thrór had disagreed, Thorin had had to obey.

A rocky past had marked relations between Erebor and the Greenwood even before Thrór had denied Thranduil the gems. Never before, however, had they been as bad as now. Thorin's mission of diplomacy was doomed to fail.

"And still, I hear," the king continued, "that you maintain a dragon's hoard in your mountain."

"We are paying for repairs in Erebor and Dale," Thorin countered.

"Repairs? That will not cost you more than a fraction of your hoard. Your grandfather's greed and your father's ineptitude have lead to unfathomable tragedy and still you do not learn."

The elf's eyes blazed with anger, and none of his advisors in the hall looked likely to disagree with him. Thorin swallowed down his own furious retort at the insult. He knew better than the elf how true that statement was, and there was nothing worse than hearing it from an elf. Yet, despite his at times hot-headed character, he was very aware of how thin the ice was he was treading on here.

The War Prince they had called the current ruler of the Great Greenwood. The will and ability to protect the ever darkening elven realm had been bred into him from birth. It had earned him a reputation as a great and loyal leader of the Woodland guard fighting against the darkness. His succession to the throne had never been intended.

The Elf-king rose from his high throne. His robes shimmered in the dim light of the cave; the crown of Mithril on his head, bare of all signs of the season, emphasized the harsh lines of his face.

"You and your folk are banned from these lands!" He declared loudly. "Never again will the effort of friendship of the elves be repaid in blood by the dwarves! Leave, Prince, before I have you thrown out or worse. There will be no more trade between the Mirkwood and no diplomacy!"

Thorin's lips formed into a tight line and he balled his fists to prevent their trembling. "Are you declaring war?"

Balin behind him gasped audibly at his frank question.

King Legolas laughed grotesquely. "War? No, not war."

King Thranduil had distrusted and disliked the dwarves, yet still dealt with them. His son, however, did not hesitate in showing open hatred and cutting ties; he was even unrepentant in calling his own realm by the dark name of Mirkwood. This king would never forgive the dwarves for the loss of so many of their people, among them his father Thranduil. The War Prince had become king.

"But I suggest you ensure your own safety when you travel through the perils of the Mirkwood, and any dwarf who leaves the path shall spend the rest of their miserable mortality in our dungeons."

His decision was a harsh blow, practically barring the ever more perilous road used by dwarves traveling between the west and Erebor. He did not need to include it in his ban, for without elven guides and guards it had become nearly impassable.

Could it have been worse? Thorin did not know. Elves did not die; they did not forget. Any hope of better relations in the future had turned to ashes like the dragon Smaug's victims. The dwarves had kept their home and driven out the dragon that had come to attack Erebor; but the elves had paid a heavy price for their aid. No one could be bitterer than King Legolas himself who had convinced his father to come to Erebor's and Dale's aid rather than turn his back. The elves had paid a heavy price for it.

Thorin himself would probably never again step foot into the halls of Greenwood's palace. He turned and walked away without another word, knowing within himself that a great mistake had been made.

* * *

 _Note_ _: I'm terribly fond of stories with mysterious plotlines which end with a twist. I have tried to explain the setting in the story to some extend without spoiling the surprise, but in case readers are still confused: in this story, Legolas convinced Thranduil to help the dwarves when Smaug attacked Erebor during Thrór's reign; this is not an alternative ending to the Battle of Five Armies. Thranduil was killed, presumably along with many other people, and Legolas became a rather bitter king._

 _This short story somehow arose from a plot idea about Legolas being raised to be a "War Prince", that is, a prince very well versed in battle to defend his realm, but never to lead it as king. Except what he if did become king?_

 _Thanks goes to HaloFin17 for looking this one over and deeming it ready for posting; I mislead her more than I intended to and I hope my last-minute changes have made the setting of the story clearer._


End file.
